Roll With the Punches
by Al The Observer
Summary: This is the first in a set of stories that provides a little twist to the normal operations of Project Quantum Leap.
1. Oh, boy!

The blue light faded around him, but as his senses returned, he realized there was a lingering blue light. It was much deeper blue, and it was flashing. Sam looked around, and noticed it was dark, save for the flashing blue light. He looked in his hand, and he saw that he was holding what appeared to be a traffic ticket book. He tugged on his light gray shirt and looked down. "Milton Police," he read off the badge. He read the brass name plate on the right side of his shirt, "Thompson." At the age of four, he had taught himself to read upside down. That talent annoyed some people, but it came in very handy at times. He looked back at the ticket book to see that it had been filled out, except for the signature of the driver. He approached the other vehicle, and handed the driver her license.

"Ms. Davis, I've written you a ticket for..." His eyes quickly scanned the ticket for the offense. "...Speeding. Fifty-six in a twenty-five? Um, thirty-one miles per hour over the posted speed limit. I need you to sign here, please." He realized he was holding a pen in his left hand, and he handed her the pen with the ticket book. It was then that he noticed she had unbuttoned her blouse, and she was batting her eyes at him. Sam turned bright red as his "choir boy" instincts took over, and he quickly averted his eyes, saying, "Oh, boy!"


	2. Sam's Assignment

"Okay, um, just... uh, sign there at the bottom," Sam stammered, still mortified by what he had seen.

Suddenly, Al appeared next to Sam. He spotted what Sam was trying to avoid seeing, and his eyes got huge. "Oh, Sam! Oh, you should really see this! Wow!"

Sam tried to stand in Al's view, but failed. "Al," he muttered sternly, trying not to let the driver hear.

"Aw, Sam! You wrote her a ticket?! Boy, I'd take that fine pair in lieu of a fine any day!"

"I'll? Oh, I'll definitely make it worth your while if you just tear up this ticket," Ms. Davis read Sam's name plate. "Officer Thompson," she cooed.

Al swallowed hard, his eyes still fixated on the view.

"No!" Sam coughed. "Please button your shirt ma'am. And just sign the ticket. Then you can be going on your way."

Al looked disappointed as the woman quickly buttoned her shirt. "Sam, all these opportunities are just wasted on you." He waved his cigar in the air at the thought.

Whispering under his breath, Sam asked "Opportunities? She was trying to bribe me! If I was a real cop, I'd be arresting her for trying to bribe a police officer."

"Sam," Al said incredulously, "how could you even think of arresting someone who looks like _that_?" He pointed the handlink at the woman.

The woman scowled at Sam as she signed the ticket and handed the ticket book back to him. He tore off the ticket and gave it to her. "You don't know what you just gave up, Officer Thompson. I guarantee, it would have been better than the doughnuts you'll be eating at your next break!"

With that she pulled out and headed down the road. Sam noted that it was at a reasonable speed. He turned and started walking back to the patrol car. "Al, why am I here? And don't tell me it's because of _her_!"

Al re-centered himself in the passenger seat of the car, and punched some buttons on the handlink. He waited until Sam got in the car, and read the display. "It's March 15, 1978, and your name is Joshua Thompson, but your buddies call you JT. You're a police officer for the city of..."

"Milton," Sam interjected.

"Yeah, Milton, Alabama. It's a small urban city. Two and a half square miles, to be exact."

Al was interrupted by the police radio. "Headquarters to two-seven."

He continued, "There are twelve officers working for this city, so they're very close-knit. Ziggy says that there are anywhere from two to four officers on any given shift. So it's like a small town with an urban feel."

"That's good to know, Al, but why am I here?" Sam seemed impatient.

"Headquarters to two-seven."

"Uh, Sam. I think first you'd better answer the radio."

"How do you know she's calling me?"

"Because your badge says 27," Al answered, pointing his cigar at Sam's badge.

Sam picked up the microphone. "Uh, this is two-seven. Go ahead?"

"Two-seven, are you ten-twenty-four?"

Sam looked anxiously at Al, who was punching buttons on the handlink again.

"Ziggy's got nothing. These small agencies used different code numbers. It could mean almost anything." Al smacked the handlink a couple of times for good measure.

"Two-seven, are you ten-twenty-four?"

"Sam! Look!" Al pointed at a sheet of paper that was in the middle of a pile on the dashboard.

Sam could see the words "Codes and Signals" at the top of the page. He pulled the page out of the pile, and looked up 10-24. "Situation under control," he read aloud. He picked up the microphone again and said, "Two-seven is ten-twenty-four."

"Ten-four," was the response.

Sam continued to look over the code sheet, and noticed the area for disposition codes. He saw that "Code 7" meant he had written a traffic ticket. He also read that "10-8" meant "in service." He pressed the button on the microphone and said, "Two-seven is ten-eight, code seven."

"Ten-four, two-seven," answered the dispatcher.

Sam placed the microphone in its cradle, and put the paper on top of the pile, knowing he would need to find it later. He then turned back to his friend. "Why am I here, Al?"

Al had a grave look on his face as he read the handlink. "Uh, you're here to stop the murder of a fellow officer. Ziggy says that before your shift is over tonight, Officer Timothy Greene will be shot and killed during a traffic stop."

Sam paled at the news. He sighed and asked Al, "What is his badge number? I'll just stay close to him, and back him up on all of his calls."

Al tried to pound the information out of the handlink. "Ziggy doesn't know. Apparently the badge numbers changed based on how long an officer worked at Milton. I'm gonna go see if I can't get her to get into some archives or something." He pressed a button on the handlink, and the Imaging Chamber door opened next to him. He stepped into the rectangle of light, and said, "Sam, just - stay low and stay safe." With that, he pushed a button and the door closed, leaving Sam alone in the patrol car.


	3. The Interview

Al walked down the ramp from the Imaging Chamber to the Control Room. He acknowledged Gooshie with a nod, and placed the handlink on the multicolored console. He looked up at the orb of blue light that was the closest thing to a physical presence Ziggy had. "Ziggy!" He barked.

"Yes, Admiral?" Ziggy cooed.

"I need you to find the badge number that Officer Timothy Greene was using in Milton, Alabama on March 15, 1978."

"I can't do that, Admiral," Ziggy sniffed.

This response perturbed Al. "Well, why not?"

"Admiral, I cannot locate data that no one entered into any system."

"Can't you check the reports, or archives or something?" Al asked, sounding annoyed.

"There are no archives to be checked, and the badge number was not noted on any of the reports I have found." The blue orb glowed brighter. "Admiral, why don't you just ask Officer Thompson in the Waiting Room?" Ziggy seemed proud of herself that she thought of the idea.

Al scowled at the blue orb. "Ziggy, why didn't you suggest that in the first place?"

"You never asked," she answered cooly.

Gooshie smirked, which caused Al to shoot him a look. Gooshie quickly looked down, pretending to adjust the handlink.

Al opened his mouth to say something to Ziggy, but then changed his mind. There was no point in getting into a philosophical argument with a computer. Instead, he marched out of the Control Room and down the corridor toward the Waiting Room.

When he got to the Waiting Room door, he entered his code and the door whooshed open. He stepped into the Waiting Room and the door closed behind him. He could see Thompson's body through Sam's aura. Al was the only person at the project who could see the Leapees for whom they really were. It was part of the neural connection he and Sam shared. Thompson was quite a bit shorter than Sam; Al guessed that he was around five-foot-six or five-foot-seven. He was well-built and muscular, even for his height. He had brown hair that was in a crew cut, and his eyes were crystal blue. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties.

Thompson turned around and stood up when he heard the door open. He looked at Al suspiciously as he walked around the Admiral, examining his clothing. Al was wearing a bright purple shirt with gray paisley; a purple, silver, and black vest; matching purple pants; a thin silver tie; and shiny silver shoes.

"Am I dead?" Thompson finally asked, after making a full revolution around the blue and white room.

"No, you're not dead." Al was accustomed to this line of questioning. Most of the Leapees thought they were either dead or abducted by aliens.

"You speak English?" Thompson looked amazed.

"Of course I speak English!" Al was taken aback. He had never heard that one. "I also speak Italian and Russian, if you'd prefer one of those," he offered.

Thompson looked at him quizzically. "I didn't expect you to speak English. I guess I expected you to speak... alien, or something."

"No, I never learned to speak alien." Al motioned to the table that was in the middle of the Waiting Room. "Why don't you sit down? I need to ask you a couple of questions."

"About what?" Thompson sat down slowly, but remained on his guard.

"About Officer Timothy Greene."

Thompson jumped up. "What about Tim? What have you done to him?"

Al held his hands up in a defensive but calming gesture. "Nothing. Nothing has happened to him." He wanted to add "Not yet," but thought better of it. "I need you to remember something about Officer Greene."

"Where is he? Where do you have him?" Thompson was getting very upset, and Al wished he had brought a Marine guard into the Waiting Room with him.

"Look, JT. Officer Greene is fine right now. We don't have him. I just need you to remember something so we can help him," Al tried to reassure him.

Suddenly, Thompson lunged at Al, grabbed him by his shirt with both hands, and slammed his back against the wall. He banged Al against the wall with each question he demanded. "I wanna know what the hell is going on, and I wanna know now! How do you know Tim? Where is he? What do you want with him? Where am I? And how in the _hell_ do you know my name?"

"Ziggy! I need backup! _Now!_" Al called to the ceiling with urgency in his voice. He knew he was no match for the man who had him pinned against the wall, his feet off the floor.

Thompson was livid. "Why don't you answer me? What the hell is _happening_ here?" With that last question, he slammed Al hard against the wall. Al's head hit the wall with a sickening thud, and his body went limp in Thompson's hands. Thompson released his grip, and Al fell to the floor in a heap. Thompson stepped back and looked at Al, stunned at what he had done.

Suddenly, the Waiting Room door opened, and two Marine guards ran in, their guns drawn at Thompson. He spun around and saw the guards. Instinctively, he put his hands out and away from where his weapon would be, if he had been wearing his police belt. The Marines ushered him to a far corner of the Waiting Room and held him there at gunpoint.

A moment later, Doctor Verbena Beeks rushed in, followed by two young men wearing white hospital scrubs. "Admiral?" She called to him. No answer. She knelt down next to the unconscious man. "Al?" Still no answer. She checked for a pulse, and looked up at the nurses. "Get me a backboard and a cervical collar, stat!" The nurses ran out of the Waiting Room to retrieve the equipment. Verbena stood up and walked over to Thompson. "What did you do to him?"

Thompson looked genuinely sorry and ashamed for what he had done. "I... I'm sorry. I've never done anything like that before. I'm just trying to figure out all of this." He motioned to the room around him, which caused the guards to move a step closer to him. With that, he froze in place, but continued. "I was afraid, and I guess I lost my temper when he wouldn't answer me, and I slammed him against the wall." He looked back at Verbena. "What is happening here?"

"JT, my name is Doctor Beeks. I'm the psychiatrist here. I know you're afraid and confused about all of this, but you'll have to trust me. I can't tell you much, but here's what I can tell you. You have inadvertently become the subject of a top secret government research project." She could see the confusion and fear on his face. "Basically, you switched places in time with the man who built this project. He's there to change something that went wrong in time. Admiral Calavicci came to see you so he could get some information to help your friend, Timothy. But since you've incapacitated him, you may have set the progress back a bit."

Thompson paled when hearing Al's rank. "He- he's an Admiral? God, I had no idea."

"Yes, he's Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci, retired. He's the one who helps the man you switched places with. Now, what was he asking you? We really need the information he was wanting."

"He," Thompson looked down at his feet. "Never got the chance to ask me." He looked at Al, then back at Verbena. "Is he dead?"

"Not right now, but until he can be examined, I won't know if that will change," Verbena answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

At that moment, the nurses rushed in with the backboard and collar, and they knelt down beside Al to apply the collar and transfer him to the backboard. Verbena left Thompson and went to assist the nurses. She helped them load Al onto the backboard, and then onto the gurney that a third medic had rolled in. The medical staff wheeled Al out, and the Marines backed out of the Waiting Room, guns still drawn on Thompson. The Waiting Room door closed, leaving Thompson alone again.


	4. Doughnuts and Coffee

After Al had left, Sam had spent a few minutes acquainting himself with the equipment in the patrol car. He had then read and memorized the codes and signals. Next, he had memorized the map, and had taken a couple of hours to drive around and really get to know Milton, using the map in the car and the map in his head. He had finished his city tour at the doughnut shop at the edge of town. It seemed like a good idea at the time. He was rather puzzled at the reaction of the kid behind the counter. He acted like he had never seen Thompson order a doughnut there. Nonetheless, he filled Sam's order of two plain glazed doughnuts and a black coffee, and only charged him half price. Sam sat at the table in the empty doughnut shop, wondering what was keeping Al. It hardly ever took him this long to get some simple information, even if Ziggy was being stubborn. Somehow, he was always able to get the information he needed from her.

Sam heard the bells on the glass door jangle as the door opened behind him, and he turned around. A tall, thin officer walked in, carrying a newspaper. He had reddish hair and hazel eyes, and looked to be about the same age as the man Sam had Leaped into.

"JT! Man, what are you doing in here? I thought you hated doughnuts!" He walked over to Sam's table and set the newspaper down across from Sam.

"Um, it's been so long since I had a doughnut, I figured I'd try one and see if they've changed any," Sam answered. He noted that the officer's name plate said "Greene" and his badge number was 23. "Join me for a doughnut or two, Timothy," he smiled.

"Timothy?" The man looked startled. "You haven't called me 'Timothy' since the first day we were in the academy! What happened to 'Tim'?"

"Oh, uh, I thought I'd be more formal in mixed company." Sam motioned in the direction of the kid behind the counter.

Tim waved his hand. "Ah, who cares?" He then lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. "With their employment track record, he probably won't be working here next week, anyway." He then turned around and walked to the counter to put in his order.

Sam scanned the newspaper, which was upside down to him. He noted that there was nothing on the front page that caught his interest, and he resisted the urge to open the paper, since it wasn't his.

Tim came back to the table from the counter, coffee and doughnuts in hand. He saw Sam reading the paper and chuckled, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I was just checking out today's headlines," Sam smiled sheepishly. He had hoped Tim wouldn't catch him reading the paper upside down. He always felt awkward trying to explain himself to others.

"Upside down? Man, you sure are full of surprises!" Tim laughed. "When did you learn to do that?" He sat down across from Sam.

"When I was four," Sam replied around a mouthful of doughnut.

"Four? You were reading at four? Upside down?" Tim started in on his doughnut.

"Yeah, it was sort of a hobby, I guess." Sam swallowed a mouthful of coffee. "Comes in handy at times."

"JT, you know I love ya like a brother, but sometimes," he laughed, "you sure are weird. Hey, how did that traffic stop go? What was your ticket for?"

"Oh, speeding. Fifty-six in a twenty-five." Sam swallowed another gulp of coffee with the last of his second doughnut. "And she tried to bribe me."

"She tried to bribe you? What did she do?" Tim started smiling again.

Sam blushed at the memory of what he had seen earlier that evening. "Uh, she unbuttoned her blouse."

Tim laughed out loud at this, and patted Sam on the shoulder. "Of all the cops to bribe like that, she chose our very own Prudent Prince!"

Sam choked on the coffee he was slurping. He was surprised that Tim called JT the same name that Al called him. It usually annoyed him when Al called him the Prudent Prince, but this time, he found the irony rather funny.

"You okay, JT?" Tim asked.

Sam nodded and grabbed a napkin, as Tim's radio came to life. "Headquarters to two-three."

Tim grabbed his radio and answered, "Twenty-three, go ahead."

"Two-three, ten-sixty-six at the park. It's a dark blue car, unknown make or model, occupied two times. Reported by a passerby."

"Ten four," Tim responded. He got up and gulped down the rest of his coffee before throwing the cup into the trash.

Sam remembered that "10-66" meant a suspicious vehicle. He stood up. "Wait, I'm coming with you."

"Nah, don't worry about it. It's probably just kids out parking." He winked. "You know what I mean. Empty park? Backseat?"

Sam blushed and nodded emphatically, holding up his hand. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean."

"Don't worry about it. I got this call." Tim started for the door.

"I'm not worried about it. I'll come with you, anyway. Keep you company." Sam smiled.

"Yeah, whatever. Come on," Tim called as he headed out the door, Sam following close behind.


	5. Light Duty

Al slowly blinked his eyes open, and waited for everything to come into focus. He looked around and realized he was in a hospital room. The room had no window, so Al surmised he was in the Project infirmary.

The medical doctor in Sam had insisted that an emergency clinic be built in the project, and staffed at all times. Al had agreed that it was a good idea, since the facility was so far in the desert. The clinic included everything the project staff would need in case of a medical emergency. It had an emergency room with four beds, two long-term rooms, and a surgical suite. There was a full-time medical staff, and a doctor on call.

Al realized he was attached to machines that were monitoring his pulse and respiration. He looked at his arms with trepidation, and was relieved to find no IVs. He hated needles. Needles reminded him of blood, and blood reminded him of Vietnam. He closed his eyes and shook his head to push those memories away, instantly regretting the move. He groaned and rested his head back on the pillow, waiting for the sudden wave of pain to subside.

"Admiral! It's good to see you're back with us!" Al opened his eyes to see Verbena walking into the room. "You gave us quite a scare." She sat down next to the bed, pushed up Al's sleeve, and applied a sphygmomanometer cuff to his arm to take his blood pressure.

It was then that Al realized he was wearing white scrubs, not the purple outfit he last remembered wearing. "Beeks, did you..." He looked down at the scrubs.

"Oh, no!" She laughed as she checked his blood pressure. "I had Tina take care of that."

"Where is she? I'd like to thank her," he said with a wry smile.

Verbena removed the cuff from Al's arm and set it aside. "She's in the Control Room, working on Ziggy."

"What about Sam?"

"Well, we don't have an Observer for him yet. You have a concussion and you need your rest. Your MRI and x-rays came back showing no permanent damage, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Look, I understand where you're coming from as a doctor, but please understand where I'm coming from as Sam's friend. He's lost out there without me. I know what it's like to Leap, and to not know what the hell's going on. Please, just let me check on him."

"I can't see any harm in letting you just check on him, Admiral, but I'll have to clear it with Doctor Jackson first. Just rest here for now, okay?"

Al pouted a bit, but conceded. "Fine. Just let me know as soon as I can go see Sam."

"I will," Verbena promised. With that, she stood up and left the room, heading toward Doctor Jackson's office.

Al lay back in the bed and stared at the ceiling. He started to get a bad feeling about Sam. It was as if Sam needed him, and he could feel it. He whispered, "I'll be there soon, buddy."

A few minutes later, Verbena came back into the room. "Well, Admiral, Doctor Jackson has cleared you for light duty."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you can return to observing, but you'll be closely monitored by Medical until he gives you full clearance."

"Fair enough. Can I go now?" He started pulling at the wires that attached him to the monitors.

"Yes, you can go now. But I recommend that you change into something a bit warmer." She motioned to the scrubs he was wearing. "It is rather cool seven floors down."

"I'll be fine." He pulled the last wire off of him, and started out the door.

"Admiral!" Verbena called after him. "Light duty!"

"Yeah, yeah," he called over his shoulder as he headed toward the elevator.

Verbena threw her hands up in exasperation. "I swear I don't know what I'm going to do with him," she muttered to no one in particular.


	6. On Patrol

Sam and Tim arrived at the park to find a dark blue car parked in the middle of the baseball field, with no lights on. Sam parked his car so the headlights shined on the blue car, and Tim did the same. They both approached the vehicle at the same time.

Sam was nervous, because he wasn't sure if this was the place where Tim got shot, or if that had happened somewhere else. "Where _are_ you, Al?"

Tim stopped. "Did you say something?"

"Just, be careful, Tim."

Tim nodded and approached the driver's window. Suddenly, a young face appeared in the window, looking very surprised. "Come on out of there!" Tim called.

The driver's door opened and out stumbled a boy who looked to be about sixteen. He was followed by a girl of about the same age. Sam was very relieved to see that they were fully clothed.

"Now what are you two kids doing out here in the park in the middle of the night?" Tim asked.

"Um, we just wanted to find a quiet place to talk, sir," said the boy.

"Uh, huh," Tim answered, not at all convinced by the story. "Do your parents know where you two are?"

The teens both looked down and shook their heads.

"Well, we can do one of two things. We can take you both to the station, and let you call your parents to come pick you up, or we can let you go on home, because I'm sure you are both out past your curfew. Am I right?"

"Yes sir," the girl spoke up. She then turned to her companion. "Chuck, I told you this was a bad idea! My dad's probably already fuming. I'm gonna be in so much trouble when I get home."

"You two go on, now. But next time you get caught trespassing out here after dark, we won't be so easy on you. Understand?"

"Yes sir," the teens said in unison. They got back in the car, and Chuck started the engine.

"And don't forget to put your seatbelts on!" Sam chided.

The kids complied, and the car eased off the baseball field and down the road.

"Why did you just let them go?" Sam asked, as he and Tim walked back toward their patrol cars.

"Man, you gotta understand kids. Good kids sneak out one night, thinking no one will catch them. They're not really doing anything bad; they're just testing the waters. Trying to find out just how far across the line they can go. The next thing they know, they see blue lights and cops with guns, and usually that scares some sense into them. These kids seemed like good kids, and I can just about guarantee you that we won't be seeing them here for anything other than a ball game from now on." Tim sat in his patrol car and picked up his microphone. "Twenty-three."

"Go ahead, two-three," was the response.

"Put myself and twenty-seven back in service. The park is clear now."

"Ten-four."

"Come on, JT. Let's see what else we can stir up tonight!" He shut the door to his car and started to drive off the field.

Sam got into his car and followed Tim out of the park. "That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered to himself.

They reached the main highway, and Tim turned left. Sam was thankful that there was very little traffic out that time of night. Sam followed Tim across the small city and into the neighborhood called Woodland Hills. They came to a four-way intersection, and Tim made a complete stop. He proceeded across the intersection, and Sam approached the stop bar. Suddenly, from the right, a green pickup truck ran the stop sign, narrowly missing the back end of Tim's car. It then turned to its right, passed Tim's car and sped down the road. Tim turned on his lights and siren and sped after the truck. It took Sam a second to remember where the proper switches were in the car, but soon he was following Tim, blue lights flashing and siren blaring.

Sam heard Tim call on the radio,"Twenty-three to headquarters, I'm in pursuit of a green Ford pickup, heading toward Woodland Drive!"

"Ten-four, two-three."

Sam picked up the microphone. "Twenty-seven is in pursuit also."

"Ten-four."

"Turning left on Woodland Drive!" Tim called on the radio.

Sam turned hard left, causing the patrol car to fishtail a bit, but he kept it under control. About a quarter mile down the road, at the bottom of a hill, the truck pulled off the roadway and came to a stop. Tim pulled up behind the truck, and jumped out of the car. Sam pulled in next to Tim's car, jumped out of his car, and ran to Tim. "You call dispatch and tell them where we are. Let me approach the truck."

"I got your back, JT." Tim then radioed in their location.

Sam approached the truck cautiously, his hand on his gun, in case he needed it. The driver rolled his window down, and Sam could almost immediately smell alcohol. He stood back from the driver's door a bit, and surveyed the scene. He didn't see any weapons, but that didn't mean that there weren't any there. "I need to see your driver license, please," he told the driver.

The man shuffled through some junk on the dashboard, and produced a fat leather wallet. "It hurts my back to keep it in my pocket," was the man's attempt at nervous small talk. He removed the license from the wallet, and handed it to Sam.

Suddenly, Al popped in just in front of the truck. "Sam! Thank God you're okay!"

This startled Sam, and he looked in Al's direction. "Al!"

The driver took advantage of this distraction and grabbed Sam's arm, pinning it against the steering wheel. He then stomped on the accelerator, and drove right through Al, heading up the next hill. Al could do nothing but watch helplessly as Sam was dragged from the truck at an increasing rate of speed. Sam struggled to get free, but to no avail. He then got an idea. With his free hand, he grabbed his large flashlight and used it to hit the driver in the face. The driver yelled, released his grip on Sam's arm, and put his hands over his face. Sam rolled away from the speeding truck, and into the oncoming traffic lane. The truck veered off the road and into a ditch.

"Sam, Look out!" Al called.

Sam looked up to see a blinding headlight, followed by a multicolored flash of light that plunged him into darkness.


	7. Greater Love

Al found himself standing in the Imaging Chamber, with no image. He stormed out of the chamber and into the Control Room. "Gooshie, what's happening?"

"Ziggy can't lock onto Doctor Beckett, Admiral. She says his brain waves are too weak for a solid lock."

Al became exasperated at the news. "He's dying, dammit! I gotta get him outta there!"

"Well, what are you going to do?" Gooshie asked.

Al ran down the hall to the storage room where the Fermi suits were kept. He grabbed a suit and ran back to the Control Room. He then tossed the suit onto the console, and pulled his shirt off, throwing it aside. "I'm gonna Leap into him." Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, and stared at Al. "He'll Leap back here, so he can have immediate medical treatment. It's his best chance of survival." He pulled his scrub pants off and kicked them aside, revealing the boxers that Tina gave him for Valentine's Day. They were black with little green alligators all over them.

"But Doctor Beeks ordered me to watch you and make sure you stayed on light duty," Gooshie protested.

"To hell with Beeks' order! I'm not gonna stand here and let Sam die! You just try and stop me!" He pulled the Fermi suit on and started toward the Accelerator.

Gooshie relented, knowing Al was right. He started the initiating sequence for the Accelerator, setting the date for March 15, 1978.

Al stepped into the Accelerator and prepared himself for the Leap. He had to wait until Gooshie could get a solid lock on Sam's brain waves, if even for just a split second. His head was throbbing, but at this point, he didn't care. All he wanted to do was to get Sam out of there. He felt the electricity crackle in the air, and he closed his eyes as the blue light became brighter and brighter. He took a deep breath, and felt the odd floating sensation overcome him as he Leaped.


	8. It Worked

Al's skin tingled all over as he regained his senses. He found himself lying in the road, with several Milton officers and citizens standing over him.

"He's coming around! Back up! Give him some room," Tim said, spreading his arms out, trying to move the people back away from Al.

"It worked," Al said.

"What worked? What are you talking about? JT, I thought you were dead!" Tim squatted down next to Al.

"No, I don't think I am." Al squeezed his eyes shut. "Damn, my head hurts."

"Well, it should. You just got hit by a car!"

Al sat up and looked around. He saw the driver of the truck had been arrested by the backup officers, and was sitting in the back of one of the patrol cars. One of the officers removed a silver revolver from the truck, and began logging it on an evidence sheet. Al then saw an ambulance approach the scene. The medics jumped out of the ambulance, and ran toward Al. "Aw, man. Not again." He said, shaking his head. He hated doctors and other medical staff. They always poked and prodded at him.

"'Not again'? What are you talking about?" Tim looked very concerned for his friend.

The medics started checking Al all over. They poked and prodded, and shone penlights into his eyes. Al tried to push them away, but Tim kept him from doing so.

"JT, let them do their job," he said.

"I'm okay, really," Al insisted.

One of the medics turned to another and said, "This is incredible. They say he got dragged five hundred feet, rolled across the road, and then got hit by a car, but all I can see is a concussion. Do you find anything?"

"No, just the concussion," the other medic responded, amazed at Al's condition.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just leave me alone now," Al said, trying to wave them off.

"No, man. You gotta at least get checked out by a doctor," Tim said.

"I'll be all right. Look, if I start to feel woozy, I'll go get checked out, okay?"

The first medic turned to Tim. "He does have the right to refuse treatment, you know."

"Well, I know that. But I still think he's making a mistake."

"It's his mistake to make." The medic pulled Tim to the side, so Al wouldn't overhear him. "Just keep a close eye on him, okay? And I wouldn't let him drive for a couple of days, either."

"Well, I am the senior officer on the shift. I'll put him in my car, and we'll go two-man for the rest of the week," he said, referring to the practice of having two officers per car.

"Sounds good," the medic replied.

Tim walked back over to Al. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Just a little headache, that's all," Al lied. The combination of the concussion and the Leap was taking its toll. His head felt like it was going to explode.

"Well, look. Let's get you back to the station and get you a fresh uniform. This one's kind of seen better days."

Al looked down to see that his pants were shredded, and his shirt didn't fare much better.

"And I have some aspirin in my locker, too." Tim reached down and helped Al stand up slowly.

They walked to Tim's patrol car and Tim opened the passenger door for Al. Al got in and closed the door. Tim got in the driver's side and started the car.

"What about all of this?" Al motioned to the truck and the other patrol cars at the scene.

"We'll let the other officers take care of that. We need to take care of you, first. If you're not gonna go to the hospital, you at least need to go to the station and take something for that headache you have." Tim drove away from the scene, and Al's headache was eased a bit by the absence of the flashing lights.

They arrived at the station, which was on a hill on the opposite end of town from where Al had Leaped in. Al was relieved to see that the officers' lockers had their names on them. He found a locker that was simply labeled "JT". He opened it to find a fresh uniform, and proceeded to change into it.

"JT! Catch!"

Al almost missed the aspirin bottle that Tim tossed his way, but he was able to catch it over his head. He swallowed two pills and sat down on the bench to put his shoes back on.

Tim walked across the room to him. "You're lucky it's about time for third shift to come in. Come on, let's go sign out."

Al followed Tim upstairs to the dispatch office, where they signed the log sheet. The dispatcher in the office fussed over Al like a mother hen. Only after he repeatedly insisted he was okay, did she finally leave him alone.

"JT, you want me to take you home?" Tim offered.

"Yes, please," Al gratefully accepted. He had no idea where home was, but he wasn't about to tell Tim that.

The ride home didn't take very long, since Thompson lived in Milton. Al got out of the car and started walking toward the front door.

"JT!" Tim called. "I'll pick you up tomorrow around two. Will that be okay?"

"Uh, sure,"Al answered. "Two is fine."

As soon as Al walked in the door, he knew Thompson was single. There were dirty dishes in the sink, and various articles of clothing were tossed about. Al hated messy places. Organization was one thing that the Navy had taught him, and he appreciated that. He shook his head, sighed, and started picking up the clothes. It didn't take long for his headache to kick back in, with the bending and standing. He abandoned his cleanup effort and found his way to the bedroom. Much to his dismay, it was messier. Trying to ignore the mess, he changed out of his uniform and into shorts and a t-shirt that looked clean. He carefully laid the uniform out over a pile of clothes, being cautious not to introduce wrinkles. Then he shoved everything off the bed, and lay down.

_Why am I still here? Sam saved Tim. Their shift is over now. I'm supposed to Leap, right?_

Al turned off the light and tried to sleep, but sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned all night, worried that something had happened to prevent him from Leaping. Finally, exhausted from the events of the past 18 hours, he drifted off to sleep.


	9. The Patient

As Al disappeared from the Accelerator, Ziggy informed the room of anxious staff that Doctor Beckett had taken his place in the Accelerator chamber. Ziggy opened the door and the medics that had been called rushed into the room. They checked his vital signs, and immediately started CPR. After about a minute of this, Sam coughed and started breathing on his own. The two medics quickly but carefully applied a backboard and cervical collar. Then they put him on a gurney and rushed him out of the Accelerator chamber and down the hall to the emergency clinic in the Project Infirmary. Once there, IVs were placed in Sam's arms and Doctors Jackson and Beeks checked him for injuries. They found Sam covered with severe abrasions and they were concerned with the bruising on his ribs, figuring that he either cracked or broke one, possibly two. The apparent crack in his skull was of concern to the two of them and they hoped that this would not be cause for a serious brain injury, although a concussion was a foregone conclusion. Verbena worked at cleaning and addressing the head wound while Dr. Jackson trimmed the wounds on Sam's arms, legs and torso. He spent longer on the leg wounds, since they were more serious due to Sam having been dragged across the asphalt. He also stitched those abrasions that had lead to deep cuts. He applied an antibiotic dressing to the wounds and then covered them with gauze.

After taking care of the wounds, they took Sam to Radiology to examine his ribs. As predicted, he had cracks in two of them, although there were no actual breaks to be found. The x-rays of his head showed that his skull had a hairline fracture just above the left temple. The doctors also performed an MRI and were glad to find that no underlying organs had been injured. The issue that continued to bother them the most was Sam's head injury. However, until he regained consciousness, there would be no way to know how severe the damage was.

Sam was placed in one of the rooms for monitoring through the night. He was having trouble breathing due to the cracked ribs. The doctors provided him with additional oxygen and it was hoped they would not have to provide more assistance to help him breathe. For the next twenty-four hours, they would just have to wait and see.

Verbena reported to Ziggy and the rest of the team that Doctor Beckett was stable but still not out of the woods. The doctors would keep them posted as the night progressed. She then asked about Al.

Ziggy answered, "My monitoring of his vital signs indicates that he is sleeping. There are not symptoms of undue stress."

Verbena asked the next question, recalling the last time the programmer had been called to observe. "Are you ready for this, Gooshie? You know that Sam will not be able to observe for sometime."

"Um, yes, Dr. Beeks. I'm ready to take on that role," Gooshie answered confidently.

"That's good, Gooshie. If you need my help, I'll be here in the infirmary. Both Doctor Jackson and I plan to monitor Sam tonight."

The personnel at Project Quantum Leap took a collective sigh of relief that all indications were that Sam would survive the night. They took an equal collective breath of trepidation as to how Al would be handling life as a Leaper. While they knew that his sacrifice had meant that the physicist in the infirmary now had a chance, the fact that their friend was as trapped as Sam had been did not provide any comfort.


	10. Justice

The alarm came much too early for Al, even though it had been set for 1:00 PM. He was puzzled when he realized that the room was still dark. He stumbled across the piles of clothing, to the window, and threw the curtains open to find that a sheet of metal had been affixed over the window frame. "Makes sense," he muttered. He figured that Thompson probably needed it to be dark to sleep, and sleeping during the day necessitated some sort of window covering. He then shuffled out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, where he showered and shaved. He was just putting his shoes on when he heard a horn honk outside. It was Tim summoning him.

On their way to the station, Tim informed him that they would be in a two-man car for the day. Al was relieved, since he didn't know the city or the procedures. They signed in at the station, and attended roll call. It didn't take long, since there were only four officers on that shift. The logical side of Al found it rather unnecessary, but the military side of him understood procedure.

He and Tim got in Tim's patrol car and left the station to patrol the city. They soon came to a traffic light at the bottom of the hill. The light was green, and there was a kid on a bike entering the intersection in the same direction Tim and Al were traveling. Suddenly, a car entered the intersection from the left, having to swerve to miss the kid.

"Damn red light runners!" Tim yelled. He immediately turned on his blue lights and initiated a traffic stop. He then called in the traffic stop to dispatch, and he and Al got out of the patrol car to approach the other vehicle. Something about that car seemed familiar to Al. He watched as Tim talked to the driver, and got the driver's license. Then Tim motioned for Al to join him on the driver's side of the vehicle. He walked around the vehicle and looked at what Tim was holding.

"Is this the one you were talking about last night?" Tim asked Al as he showed him the driver's license.

Al looked at the picture on the license and immediately recognized the driver as Ms. Davis, the woman who had tried to bribe Sam the night before. "Yes, that's the one." He narrowed his eyes. "Did she do it again?"

"Yes, she did," Tim said, motioning to the woman with the unbuttoned blouse.

Al looked at the woman with complete disinterest and said, "Uh, huh."

"And she picked the wrong cop to mess with at the wrong time," Tim said angrily.

"What are you going to do, Tim?" Al asked. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"I'm going to arrest her, unless you have a better idea."

"Go right ahead." Al made a long sweeping motion with his hand, as though he was inviting Tim to make the arrest.

"Ma'am, I need you to step out of the car, please," Tim said.

Ms. Davis stepped out and immediately saw Al. "Officer Thompson!"

"I need you to turn around, please," Tim said to her. "I'm placing you under arrest for attempting to bribe a police officer. You have the right to remain silent..." His words started to trail off.

Al smiled as he felt the electricity crackle around him. He knew that justice had been served. The blue light engulfed him, and he was off to another time and another place.


	11. In the Jungle

As the bright blue light faded, Al started to hear gunfire. Automatic gunfire. It was all around him. He looked around, and saw he was on the edge of a tree line, next to a trail which was about ten feet wide. He realized he was holding an automatic rifle, and was on one knee in the undergrowth. He took a deep breath. The heat and humidity were stifling. The gunfire continued. Suddenly, he saw a lemon-sized object hurtling toward him. _Grenade!_ He spotted a depression in the ground on the other side of the trail. It looked big enough to fit into. Al jumped up, ran across the trail, and dove into the hole. He lay face down and heard the grenade explode, followed by the sound of shrapnel raining down on the vegetation around him. This was all too familiar. The heat, the humidity, the sounds of war. He rolled over onto his back and looked up. The trees were thick and dark green, but he couldn't see any detail through the haze hanging in the air. _I'm back in Vietnam!_ The realization hit him like a punch to the face. He sat up, slowly looked over the edge of the hole, and paled at what he saw. He was looking down the muzzle of an automatic rifle. The kid at the other end couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen. Al read the name tapes on the kid's jacket. _Collins, U.S. Army_

Collins yelled over his shoulder, "Jones, I got a live one!" He turned back to Al. "Heh, heh, heh. I've got you now, Charlie."

_Charlie?_ Al was stunned. "Oh, ca-ca."


End file.
